Salome's Dance
by queen of the imps
Summary: Someone begins to stalk Lisa, taking photos of her and sending threatening letters. Assuming Jackson is the culprit, Lisa takes measures to protect herself. But then a package arrives that both horrifies her and forces her to reexamine her assumptions.


Disclaimer: I don't own 'Red Eye'. Anyone who thinks I do should send me an email, because I've got some _great_ real estate to sell them.

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_Salome's Dance_

For years afterward, she would always wonder if she'd somehow known. If, subconsciously, she had realized the truth, even as she plowed on with her incorrect assumptions. But Fate had decided the part she would play, and she had no choice but to accept it.

The news of the attack on Keefe had been huge. Suddenly, the ordinary hotel manager from Florida had her photo splashed across every front page she came upon. Lisa had never wanted attention before in her life, and to have so much so suddenly was…well, jarring.

Jackson was eventually released from the hospital, with new scars painting his skin and his voice somewhat hoarser. He never spoke to anyone, except when giving a statement to the police. He wanted nothing to do with the press or anyone else, which suited Lisa just fine. She could go the rest of her life without hearing that man's words on the radio or seeing his picture on the evening news.

There was, of course, an investigation. Despite public clamoring, despite pressure from the White House, and despite the knowledge that _someone_ must have had a hand in the attack, no arrests were ever made. There was no evidence that Jackson had done anything more than sit with Lisa on the plane (even as Lisa testified to his guilt repeatedly), and there was no evidence that Lisa had tried to kill Keefe. Mournfully, the police eventually concluded that it was a mystery, one that time would hopefully solve.

It was only a few months later that Jackson disappeared. Still an innocent man in the eyes of the law, he simply left Florida one day without a word, which also suited Lisa just fine. She could move on if Jackson was out of state, even though she'd have preferred having him behind bars. But such was Fate.

For a month or so after Jackson disappeared, Lisa tried to live life as she had before. She went to work, she stayed close with her father, she went out sometimes but not often, and she ordered Seabreezes at the corner café. When terrifying memories kept her awake at night, she got a prescription for sleeping pills. When she began to see Jackson's face in her dreams, she bought a dog to keep guard while she slept. And slowly, she began to move on.

But Fate is cruel sometimes, and has tricks to play.

It all started simply enough. Lisa would come home from work to find her things in spots she didn't remember leaving them. Her day planner would not be in its drawer, her closet would be rearranged slightly, and her dog's leash would be put somewhere that was difficult to find. Even though these occurrences puzzled her, Lisa chalked it up to forgetfulness and bought some over-the-counter gingko balboa. Even when this went on for a week or so, Lisa thought nothing of it.

A week and a half after her things began to misplace themselves, Lisa's dog began to bark in the middle of the night for no reason whatsoever. The first few times, Lisa tried to soothe him, wondering if it was perhaps a squirrel or some other animal that was bothering her pet. But her dog had never barked in the middle of the night before; why did he decide to start then?

The fourth night it happened, Lisa grabbed a can of Mace from her kitchen, wondering if someone was outside. She quickly put on some clothes and her shoes before walking through her yard in search of any unwanted visitors. After about fifteen minutes of fruitless pursuit, she gave up and went inside to sleep restlessly.

But the dog continued to bark every night. Fate wasn't done yet with Lisa Reisert.

The next day, when Lisa arrived home from work, the door to the house was already open. Panicking, she wondered if she'd been robbed. But as she entered the house, she could see that nothing had been taken from any of the rooms, even though all of the windows were ajar. Lisa felt a gnawing sense of dread, knowing that ever since her rape, she had always locked her door and shut the windows whenever she left the house. She couldn't have forgotten this time; but why would someone enter her house without taking anything?

For a few days, nothing more happened, though Lisa's dog continued to bark in the middle of the night. Lisa wondered vaguely if it was all paranoia, if being victimized twice had finally gotten to her head. It was entirely possible. After all, she had been raped and held hostage…could anyone really go through even _one _of those events and not be affected? Determined to regain her composure, Lisa solemnly promised to herself that she'd try to find a good therapist or counselor. She could get through this bad spell. She had the strength.

Unfortunately, Fate had to intervene once again.

It happened when she looked through her mail and found an envelope with no stamp and no return address. All it had written on it was the name "Lisa Reisert" in looping calligraphy, as though to impress her. Curious, she tore open the envelope, vaguely wondering what it could be.

Inside was a photo of herself, standing in the lobby of the Lux Atlantic in her manager's uniform. She was obviously not looking at camera, instead seeming to talk to one of the women at the front desk. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and she seemed harried and tired. A typical shot of Lisa at work, one that could have been from any of the days she'd been employed at the Lux Atlantic.

She'd had to swallow hard upon seeing it. As she racked her brain, she couldn't come up with a single innocent explanation for the photo's existence. She had no recollections of anyone taking pictures of her at the hotel, and she obviously hadn't posed for it. Which meant that someone must have taken it without her knowledge.

As this realization hit her, Lisa leaned against a wall, her legs feeling weak. As she felt tears stinging her eyes, she slid down to the floor and hugged her knees. For what seemed like hours, she just sat there, shaking and sobbing, frightened by this confirmation of her worst fears. She'd have remained there for much longer if her dog hadn't come up to her, whining loudly to be taken for a walk as he licked the tears off his master's face.

That night, she'd burned the photo in her fireplace. She didn't want to see it ever again, since it would only serve as a reminder to the terrifying idea that someone must be watching her. And there was only one person it could be, one person who had attacked her and who had promptly disappeared. As the flames had eaten away at the celluloid image, she had sworn to not let Jackson Rippner turn her into his victim again.

Lisa began to carry two things with her wherever she went: Mace and a knife. Should Jackson ever appear, she would use one or the other to dispose of him. Their presence made her feel slightly more secure, and as she walked through the streets of Miami, she would remind herself that she had already beaten Jackson once. She could take him on again if the occasion arose.

For the next few days, Lisa continued to receive photos in her mail. None were pornographic, but they were all definitely taken at times when she was not expecting to be photographed. One was another shot of her at work, one was of her walking the dog, and yet another (which Lisa found to be the most disconcerting) was of Lisa asleep in bed, her blankets wrapped tightly around her as she settled down to terrifying dreams.

Every time Lisa received them, she did what she thought was the right thing to do: she kept them and recorded the dates that each photo had arrived. She figured that with enough photos, she could go to the police with a bundle of evidence, and that they would be able to find Jackson, or at least protect her. So she patiently waited for each photo to come, taking extra care whenever she dressed or showered to look around for any peeping Jacksons that might be about.

That was when Fate escalated the game.

After about four days of pictures, Lisa received another envelope, once again with an elaborately sketched version of her name. There were no photos inside, however. Instead, it contained what appeared to be a list or schedule of some sort. Frowning, Lisa read over it, confused as to what it might be.

"_6:10 AM: Woke up._

_6:11 AM: Began showering._

_6:16 AM: Ended shower. Got changed._

_6:18 AM: Made toast and ate it._

6:20 AM: Began the drive to work."

As she read on, Lisa's confusion lifted as she slowly realized what she was reading. It was a schedule of all her actions from the previous day, including the times that she'd done them. As she read on, Lisa saw that the list included everything, down to what she'd made for dinner and the movie she'd watched before going to bed. As fear and helplessness began to whirl in her stomach, Lisa spotted a roughly scrawled message at the bottom of the paper:

"_Heroes get what is coming to them. Do not interfere in our business ever again. Someone is watching you."_

Upon reading this, Lisa promptly ran to the bathroom and threw up.

As she fell asleep that night, Lisa could only wonder what Jackson wanted with her. What did he stand to gain from this game he was playing? He had yet to harm her, only having managed to scare her. Why was he only settling for stalking and threatening her once again? What if this was only the first step? What if he _did_ try to hurt her?

As she drifted into fitful nightmares, Lisa decided that she would go to the police the next day and show them what she had found. Jackson had stated outright in his letter that he was following her, so she would have enough evidence for them at least to acknowledge the danger she was in.

As she opened the door to her house the next morning, fully prepared to go to the police station with the evidence, she stumbled on the mutilated body of her dog.

His head had nearly been severed from the rest of his body, and it hung at an unnatural angle as his eyes stared at Lisa in terror. He lay on his back, his front paws pulled against his chest as though he were begging for a belly rub, even as blood spilled out of his throat onto the front steps. Whoever had done this had been merciless, and had wanted as dramatic a reaction as he could get.

Lisa, not wanting to stare at her dog's mutilated corpse for a second longer, ran inside the house and immediately dialed 911.

When the police arrived, Lisa was sitting in her kitchen, staring blankly at the floor as she willed herself not to look towards the front door, where the policemen were looking at the dog's corpse in horror and curiosity. Trying to focus her eyes on the empty room before her, she stated evenly, "You can use the side door if you want."

When they sat in her kitchen, she numbly showed them the letter and the photos she'd received, and told them about the unlocked door and her dog's nighttime barking. The police had asked her a long series questions, about when these photos started to arrive, about the photo that she had burned, about her dog's habits in the morning, and, lastly, if she had any idea who might be doing this.

After only a second's hesitation, Lisa had let Jackson's name spill from her lips. The police, of course, knew who she was, and more importantly, knew who he was. But there was little evidence to link the strange man who had disappeared all those months ago to the dead dog that was still splayed across her front step.

The police, trying their best to soothe Lisa, promised to take a look at the scene outside her house and to take her dog back to their station, where it would be examined for evidence. They would also take the note and the photos, and encouraged her to continue to archive anything else she received and to contact the police if anything further happened. In the meantime, they suggested that she stay somewhere else, since it would be dangerous for her to continue to stay alone in her house. Lisa, of course, knew where she would have to go if she didn't want to be alone.

When her father had come to pick her up, Lisa had run outside and given him a bear hug, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for his presence. He had hugged her back, calmly soothing her as he assured her that everything would be alright. No one was going to hurt his daughter while he was around. Lisa had felt tears brimming in her eyes, and she suddenly felt safer than she had felt ina long while.

That night, as Lisa slept in her old room, surrounded by mementos of her childhood, she had no nightmares. For that one night, she felt secure and protected. The police would take care of her. Her father would take care of her. And if they couldn't, she could still take care of herself. She would not be scared into submission by the likes of Jackson. She was still strong.

Lisa called the hotel the next day to inform them that she was taking a vacation. At the insistence of her father, she decided to take some time off to allow herself to unwind from the stress of the previous few weeks. Her father was all too glad to have the company, and they spent the morning sitting around his living room, watching old movies and eating popcorn.

When a photo arrived in her father's mailbox, this time of Lisa sitting with the police, Lisa almost took it as a matter of course. She called the police once again, and they came to pick it up, promising her once again that they would do all they could to find out who did this.

Lisa was grateful for their help, but she knew that Jackson would probably find some way to best them. If he did, she didn't want to find herself without protection. So, without any hesitation, she drove downtown that evening and bought a semi-automatic pistol.

For the next four days, Lisa continued to stay at home with her father, immediately throwing the mail in the trash whenever it arrived. Whatever happened, she would simply ignore it. There was no point in tormenting herself with whatever Jackson might send her.

So, for those four days, Lisa tried to enjoy herself. She and her father would watch movies together, she would read books, she'd sleep in late. Lisa did her best to push Jackson and the photos out of her head and enjoy the vacation she was taking. And, in doing so, she began to relax.

Whenever she went out, she kept the pistol on her at all times. Whether it was to pick up groceries or go out with her father to lunch or even to retrieve the newspaper from the front yard, Lisa kept the gun with her. It almost seemed like a fifth limb, something that she would not have separated from her at any cost.

One afternoon, Lisa stood outside the local convenience store as her father bought a magazine and some food. He had only been inside for a few minutes, but she was anxious. She wanted to go back to his house as quickly as possible, where she felt safe and secure. She knew perfectly well that her father would only be inside for a short while, but she still felt completely on edge.

As Lisa stood there nervously, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. Looking around, she could see no one, but this didn't stop the sensation that a pair of eyes were fixed on her. Quietly, Lisa felt her coat pocket, where the familiar bulge of the pistol still sat.

She froze when she heard the sound of motion coming from above her. Numbly, Lisa wondered if Jackson had gone so far as to watch her from the roof. Shaking, she pulled out the pistol as she walked calmly away from the wall of the store, turning to look upwards as she aimed the pistol towards the roof, in case she saw him there.

Suddenly, a car horn beeped, and Lisa fired a shot in surprise. Glancing up to see if she'd hit anything, all Lisa could see was a flock of pigeons scattering into the sky. Looking towards the rooftop, all Lisa could was the frantic flapping of wings as the birds floated towards the heavens.

That night, Lisa tried her best to fall asleep, but her thoughts raced through her head even as she shut her eyes. She was losing it, she knew. She had heard nothing more than pigeons, yet she'd whipped out her gun and fired a bullet anyway. She was growing increasingly paranoid, but there was nothing she could do. At this point, paranoia seemed the only logical course against her unseen enemy.

Lisa felt herself falling asleep as she sank into the warmth of her mattress. She told herself over and over again that it would be alright, that nothing was going to happen to her. As scary as the photos had been, Jackson had yet to try to hurt her. If she was lucky, that was as far as it would go.

But Fate is not so kind, and had more mischief to achieve.

Lisa was on the brink of sweet slumber after much tossing and turning, and would have drifted off into dreamland if she hadn't heard a voice whispering into her ear.

"_You shouldn't have tried to be a hero_."

Lisa had frozen, not sure what to do or say. After a second or so, she reached out her arm, trying to feel for anyone that might be standing next to her bed. When she felt nothing, she opened her eyes and sat up, looking around her room anxiously. But she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The room was just as she had left it. For a second or so, Lisa wondered if she had simply imagined a voice, or if she was going insane.

As she felt tears slide down her face, Lisa heard herself ask, "What do you want, Jackson?"

When she received no reply, she shrieked at the empty air, "_What do you want_?"

Silence greeted her cry, and Lisa spent the night hugging her knees, sobbing and thoroughly terrified.

The next day, she stayed locked in her room, refusing to come out for any reason whatsoever. Even as her father knocked on the door, begging to know what was wrong, Lisa refused to come out. Instead, she simply relayed clipped, uninformative answers through the door. Eventually, her father gave up, telling her that if she needed anything, he would be only a few rooms away. After a small pause, he told her that he loved her, and that he wanted to know what was scaring her so badly. After that, Lisa heard his retreating footsteps before a long bout of silence.

Even though she would normally have thought her actions foolish, to her anxiety-riddled mind, her actions seemed sensible. She would simply stay locked in her room for as long as was necessary. If absolutely had to, she would use the adjacent bathroom, but that was as far as she wandered. As for food, she could go without it. Food was secondary if staying locked up meant staying away from Jackson.

For the first several hours, Lisa dwelled in her room, her gun on her dresser and her doors locked. She would read some of the books in her room, or pore through her old mementos, but she would continually look up at the door to ensure that she was never caught off-guard.

At about one in the afternoon, Lisa could hear footsteps approaching the door. Grabbing her gun, she rushed to the bedroom door and waited for the doorknob to turn, ready to take on Jackson. Instead, she heard her father's voice informing her that he was going to drive up to the grocery store, because they were out of soda and bread. With that, his footsteps retreated, and Lisa could soon hear the sound of his car pulling out of the driveway.

Standing by her bedroom door, Lisa felt slightly foolish. She'd automatically assumed that the footsteps were Jackson's, rather than realizing that it was her father. And she'd locked herself in her room all day, as though it were a magical safe haven. But Jackson had already entered her room the previous night, and it was entirely possible that he could do so again. She was no safer there than anywhere else in the house.

But, still, she felt reluctant about leaving it. She wanted to feel safe, to somehow delude herself into thinking that Jackson could never harm her there. But she knew she was wrong, and that she was as vulnerable as ever.

After about five or ten minutes of such meditation, Lisa heard the doorbell ring. She ignored it, still sitting on her mattress with her gun resting in her palm. But whoever was at the door was persistent, pushing the doorbell in rapid succession for about thirty seconds before stopping. Nearly driven mad by the noise, Lisa wondered if her father had forgotten his house key.

Cautiously, she opened her bedroom door, glancing outside as she clasped her pistol firmly in her hand. When she saw nothing, she continued out into the hallway, always glancing around every which way as she trod down the stairs and towards the front door.

She opened the door slowly, peering out to see who was there. Surprisingly, there seemed to be no one standing outside. Stepping out of the door frame, Lisa glanced around and saw no one. Confused, she took another step out, and her foot hit against a box laying on the front step.

Frowning, Lisa crouched down to look at it. Had the deliveryman stopped by? Looking at the box, it had no markings on it at first glance, and it didn't seem to bear the brand of any delivery service. Feeling around its sides, the only thing Lisa found was a small white envelope taped to the side.

Peeling the envelope off the side, Lisa looked it over. No return address, no stamp, just her name written in elegant curlicues. Her stomach knotted in dread as she realized how familiar this was, how she recognized this style of delivery. Angry and afraid, Lisa tore open the envelope, curious as to what was inside the package.

Inside was a letter, typed in plain font on regular copy paper.

"_Dear Ms. Reisert,_

_It has come to my attention that you have not taken kindly to my associate's recent letters and photographs, which have been ill-received by you and your father. Seeing that you have recently purchased a semi-automatic weapon, my associate and I have agreed that our communiqués may have put you on edge. We assure you that, unless you feel it necessary to interfere in our company's business again, we will have no reason to harm you or your father._

_As a token of our sincerity, we send you this gift. We hope it will reiterate what we have stated before: do not interfere with our business regarding Mr. Keefe ever again._"

Lisa threw down the letter as though it had scorched her fingers. Staring at the package in horror, she couldn't help but wonder what it might contain. But she was smart enough not to investigate. For all she knew, it could be a bomb that they wanted her to trigger.

Walking quickly into the house, she immediately dialed the police, asking them to bring a bomb squad to the house as she relayed the details of what had happened. The operator on the other end of the line quickly assured her that they were on their way, and told her not to approach the package in any way.

When the police arrived, caution tape was rolled around her father's yard as the bomb squad moved in on the seemingly harmless cardboard box. An investigator pulled Lisa off to the side, asking her questions about the package and the note that had been attached. She answered as best she could, always glancing to the front step at the "gift". Even as the bomb squad worked to determine whether or not it was dangerous, Lisa couldn't help but wonder what it contained.

When her father arrived home, he was bewildered at the sight of police cars surrounding his house. Lisa had rushed over to him, explaining everything that happened since he had left. As she did so, the head of the bomb squad signaled the other members, who nodded at each other. Lisa turned to the investigator and asked, "What's going on?"

Nodding towards the package, the investigator replied, "It looks like whatever's in that box, it's not a bomb."

Lisa sighed in relief, and she felt her father put an arm around her shoulder. Good. Whatever was in the package wouldn't hurt anyone. At least she could be thankful for that.

The head of the bomb squad pulled back the flaps of the box, peering inside with clinical inquisitiveness. Lisa, curious as well, watched as he reached inside…and recoiled in horror.

Frowning in confusion, Lisa watched as the other members of the bomb squad rushed over to the package, looking at whatever it was that had shocked their leader. Upon peering inside, they, too, pulled back in disgust and there were many profanity-laden exclamations.

Cautiously and with a large dose of trepidation, the head of the squad reached one hand into the box, grabbing hold of its contents and slowly lifting it upwards. As the item gradually made its way upwards, Lisa's eyes widened as she realized what it was.

The mouth was agape, a small trickle of blood escaping from the corner of the lip and trickling downward. The eyes were open in horror, the familiar blue orbs staring blankly in terror at the world around him. The jaw was slack, as though yawning in boredom while it dangled helplessly in the air. As the leader held it up by a clump of its hair, Lisa could see that it abruptly ended where the neck should have been.

Wave upon wave of sickness passed over her as she realized this _thing_…this "_gift_"…was Jackson Rippner's severed head.

Turning away from her father, Lisa rushed over to a neighbor's yard and threw up into the bushes. As the contents of her stomach spilled onto the branches, Lisa shut her eyes in the hopes of erasing the image of what she had just seen. Whatever relief she had felt ten seconds ago was gone, replaced with pure nausea and a throbbing headache.

What kind of psycho would do this?

When she had finished throwing up, she walked over to her father as she stared at the ground, refusing to even glimpse at the item that was now being shown to the rest of the bomb squad. Her father seemed not to notice her return, his attention focused on what had just been removed from the box.

She'd been given his head. His _head_. Someone had walked up to her father's house, cardboard box in tow, in order to present a _human head_.

Lisa felt sick again, but she managed to not throw up, instead focusing her attention on the ground and her feet. Slowly, her stomach felt less queasy.

Well, she had always wanted Jackson to be unable to interfere in her life. In a way, she'd gotten what she'd wanted.

As she thought on this, Lisa started to laugh. It was just a small giggle at first, but she soon found her shoulders shaking as the laughter burst from her mouth. It was just too funny. It was just _too damn funny_.

She had wanted to take him on, to prove that she would not be intimidated by her kidnapper from the plane. She thought that with a gun or a knife, she could fight back and defeat him. If he had tried to hurt her, she would have killed him. She would have made him suffer for everything he had done to her.

And in a strange way, she'd won. She'd been wrong this whole time, but she'd won. Jackson had gotten his just desserts. She would never have to worry about his presence again, because he would never be able to hurt her. Even if she still had photos and letters sent to her house, she could look at them with the satisfaction of knowing that Jackson had been taken care of. She'd been dead wrong…but she'd won.

Even as everyone else looked at her with concern, wondering if Lisa had become unhinged, Lisa continued to laugh and laugh and laugh. She had won, and she didn't even need to lift a finger.

Because Fate is funny like that sometimes.


End file.
